


Lemonade

by the-black-birb (moriturism)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23489686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriturism/pseuds/the-black-birb
Summary: Who knew one rogue volleyball would have you hopelessly crushing on your neighbor for the rest of your life.
Relationships: Ennoshita Chikara/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	1. Meet Cute

Even as a young child, you had never really liked summer.

Slick sweat dripped down the back of your neck, your thighs burning to the hot pavement of your porch. You’d sat out here to escape the sweltering heat of a house with no air conditioner, but you found it wasn’t any better. The chatter of cicadas made your skin crawl and the hot sun beat down on you with renewed vigor.

Summer meant loneliness, you thought. It meant moving trucks and a new house (without AC, no less). You had no friends in this new town, relishing in the postcards from your _real_ home and friends. The end of preschool undoubtedly meant you’d lose touch with them, but you’d only wished your parents waited to move until you were about to start your new school, instead of letting you flounder around in an empty house for the summer break.

From one yard over, you could hear the shouts of the neighborhood boys playing together reminding you of your loneliness.

You sighed, curling in on yourself. Truly, you couldn’t make out what they were saying, but you’d convinced yourself it was nonsense. What could matter so much on a hot day like today enough to shout about it? Desperate to drown them out, you hummed nursery rhymes to yourself. If you could make fun on your own, then surely you would not care about the boys one yard over, happily playing with one another. Certainly, you could drown them out with your memories of your own friends.

But their carefree conversations still carried over the fence into your ears. Sighing hopelessly, you wondered when their forsaken summer would end. Perhaps with the start of the school year this loneliness would subside.

Your only solace was the cold lemonade your mother had made. You sipped it timidly, not wanting to waste the beverage. The liquid burned down your parched throat, relieving your heat-induced dizziness. No matter which house you resided in, your mother’s lemonade remained the same. _Home._ It tasted like home.

You are bringing the glass back down to your side, ready to forget all about the irritants that summer brings along, but before you know what hit you there is lemonade all over your clothes and a glass shattered on the ground next to you.

“I’m sorry!” The white noise of the children next door fades until only one is left. Next to you there is a soft volleyball laying guiltily in the remnants of your lemonade cup, but you have bigger matters at the moment. Sticky and exhausted, you look up to see the perpetrator.

You want so thoroughly and childishly to be angry at him for getting your clothes dirty and ruining your (already ruined) day. But you raise your head only to be greeted by a kind smile, eyes wrinkling at the corners. His presence is a breath of cool fresh air in the summer heat, looming tall over you just enough to block the sun in such a way that, to you, he is practically glowing. And you do not even know his name.

For a moment, you forget how to form words.

“Hello?” your prince charming asks, and from the way he says it you’ve certainly missed the first few times he tried to greet you. “I’m sorry for the spillage,” he admits. “Could I have my volleyball back please?”

While the smarter (and pettier) part of you wants to tell him off for what he and his friends did, interrupting your peaceful afternoon, before you can even process what has happened you hear words falling from your mouth. “I-… well…here…” You grabbed the volleyball, harshly throwing it back at him.

He catches it easily, smile unwavering. “Thanks!”

Before you can ask who he is or why he is here, he is already bounding across your yard away from you and to the other side of the fence. Your young heart mistakes the thumping in your chest for a side effect of the sweltering heat, but deep down you are certain your cheeks are flushed for another reason entirely.


	2. Early Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The neighborhood boy upgrades from stranger to friend.

With little to keep you amused inside your house and the threat of autumn breezing through all too soon, you had made a habit of sitting outside on your porch, lemonade in hand. Often, you’d sit with a game or a sketchbook to keep yourself busy, but you always found yourself drifting off.

Lately, you’d stop seating yourself on the steps outside your house, where rogue volleyballs would often land, and instead found yourself on top of the trashcan where you could swing your legs freely. You had definitely _not_ sat there because it gave you an easy view over the fence, into the yard of your neighbors. Certainly, your concerns were completely separate from the boy who always stopped by your yard to pick up the volleyballs that flew your way. You hadn’t noticed the way he always asked how your day was, or made sure no matter where the volleyball flew it did _not_ hit you. No, you hadn’t noticed at all.

Yet summer was nearing its end and though you’d been opposed to it at the start, you found yourself wishing you could spend just one more day outside, watching the neighborhood boys play carelessly and listen to their harmless chatter. The solitude you’d felt at the beginning, missing your old friends and school, was soon replaced by the nerves of going to a new school. A new environment, new people, and new challenges. You shivered at the thought of it. Not to mention, the time you’d spent gazing mindlessly at your prince charming would now be spent inside with a notebook in front of you.

You were not pleased, to say the least.

The setting sun and the familiar creak of your mother’s car pulling into the driveway reminded you of the days end, startling you to get off the trash can and instead find you way inside. You huffed, realizing that not a single volleyball had landed in your yard today. The neighborhood boys were getting better, but at what cost?

Still, the arrival of your parents brought new concerns to your mind. Your mother had told you earlier today about some _surprise guests_ , but had opted not to tell you who, to your despair (you see, you’d never been patient enough to like surprises). But to a bored child _guests_ meant an excuse to fuss over your appearance and if dinner was starting soon, you had limited time to put yourself together.

Rushing to your room, you were quick to put a brush to your hair and dress yourself. You had no idea who your special visitors were, but you were certain by the end of the night they’d know who you were. So, you wore your favorite shirt (the one with the cute yokai from the cartoon you watched) and your bright purple shorts that always made you stand out (a few years later, they’d be the bane of your existence. Whenever you looked at them in photos you’d cringe, wondering _why_ your mother let you wear them. But right now, they made your confidence skyrocket and that was all that mattered). Finally, with the daffodil pin your father had gotten you from the carnival pulling your hair back, you were ready for the night. With the confidence of a gymnast getting to their floor, you strut out of your room to greet whichever strangers dared enter your house.

And immediately, you shrunk back into your shell.

Because standing in front of you was quite possibly the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. In your doorway was a woman, average in all sense of the word, and next to her stood the boy whom you’d spent the majority of your summer watching.

Even with all the yelling from his yard, you’d never quite ascertained what his name was and each time he’d come over to retrieve his volleyball you were all too scared to ask. But there was no doubt that the young boy, just a bit taller than you with neat black hair, was the same one you’d been observing.

Face hot, you made your way over to your mother who had been waving you down for… well, you weren’t sure how long. With trained nervousness, your grabby hands wrapped around her legs wear you stood behind her, staring wearily at your so-called _guests._

“[F/N],” she laughed, tugging you out from behind her. She’d never been fond of your shy habits. “C’mon, greet our friends!” You weren’t sure what qualifications they met to become your friends, but you were certain your mother would never give up so you found yourself bowing your head and mumbling a timid “welcome,” and letting your head hang to the ground.

Stepping into your view of the ground were two unfamiliar feet in a pair of beat up sneakers. You raised your eyes to see the familiar smiling face of the neighbor boy. While every atom in your body screamed at you to avert your eyes and find your way to your mother’s side once again, his charming smile seemed to overload all of your senses.

“I’m Chikara,” he grinned. “I see you when I play volleyball sometimes.” Oh, you knew he saw you.

“Chi…ka…ra?” you tried out his name on your lips, handling it delicately. For so long you’d waited to know who he was, this all felt too easy. But his name sounded so _right_ on your lips, you didn’t dare question it for a moment.

“I’m [F/N],” you replied shyly and before you could add anything, his hand was firmly in yours. He had a determined look on his face, like he’d been waiting for this chance to show off his skills. His whole face wound up like he was super focused and suddenly you found yourself laughing at him. You stopped, wondering if he’d be offended, but he just started chuckling with you.

With that, your nerves disappeared.

Dinner was relatively easy as your parents covered all the talking for you. Occasionally, your parents would bring up an interest of yours, like the sketches you made or the games you played, and you’d answer with a “yes” or another sort of agreement, but you were left mostly to your own devices. Chikara said across from you, sandwiched between his parents, and although neither of you had much of a chance to talk, he’d make faces across the table at you everyone in awhile to make you laugh. It was comfortable.

Before they could leave, both your parents went into another room to discuss something _secret_. Your grumbled. Although the company was pleasant, surprises really were no fun.

The silence between you two sat heavy. From the night you’d assessed that Chikara was, without a doubt, delightful to be around. He was funny and had a cute smile and was overall a ball of sunshine. But that didn’t mean he was _easy_ to be around. When he was here, all your words got flustered and mixed up and you felt your stomach doing backflips. So when your parents were gone, you found yourself unable to do much but sit and fiddle with your thumbs.

“I like your shirt,” was his comment that finally broke the ice. Your head shot up, excited to talk about your favorite show.

“Oh yeah?” you asked. “Do you watch it to?” You were bouncing with energy, hoping you’d found someone to indulge in your fun with. Instead you were meant by a sheepish chuckle.

“No, I just thought it looked cute.” Suddenly, your face felt warm. “What channel is it on?” _Oh._ Soon, you were off talking a mile a minute about the cartoon. It aired every night, the perfect way for you to end your summer evenings, and so you’d watched it religiously. Even with your suddenly fast paced speech, Chikara nodded calmly, following along with you. He was a wonderful listener, you deduced. Another lovely trait to add to the list.

Before you could finish explaining to him why the character on your shirt was _the_ best, your parents were back in the room.

“Now, now, [F/N], let’s calm down,” your father pestered you into a seat where you could all talk freely. Your mothers eyes shone with an excitement you thought was a bit concerning, but you couldn’t ignore the proud look on Chikara’s mother’s face next to her.

A hush fell on the living room as it became clear your mother had something important to share with the group (or rather, with you and Chikara). “We’ve decided,” she announced. “Since [F/N] is unfamiliar with the town and school, Chikara should walk her to school for a bit!”

Your parents cheered together, trying to act like this was a huge moment or turning point. You didn’t really understand why because Chikara was, at this point, just another kid and it was not as if you were spending your whole life with him. Quietly you tried to ignore the excitement rising in your chest and the thought that even if it was not the rest of your life, all of your mornings for the next few years was still a fairly significant chunk of time to spend all with one person.

Next to you, Chikara seemed unfazed by the preposition. Whether his mother had told him in advance or he had the intuition to guess what tonight was about, you were never really sure of. But he had no hesitation in turning to you with a now familiar smile and reaching out to shake your hand once again. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around a lot more, neighbor!”

His hand was warm.

To say the two of you saw each other _more_ was likely an overstatement compared to the time you spend observing him from your lawn. But now instead of being separated by a fence, you were walking side by side and actually talking to one another.

Chikara was, as you had decided early, a delight to be around. As he’d been in school one year more than you, he taught you about all sorts of things in school, like how to get to lunch early by taking a shortcut and how to ask questions so teachers like you. It felt like most of your walks were really him talking at you. As much as you found comfort in his presence, you still had plenty of walls that made you weary of getting too talkative.

On occasion, though, he’d find one topic that made you start rambling nonstop. Sometimes it was a show you’d seen on TV or an assignment you had in school, but somehow you always missed the affection in his eyes when you went on your long tangents. You never managed to see the way all his features softened as he let himself take pleasure in simply listening to you.

Even now when you had certainly walked the route to school enough times to know the way with your eyes closed, he chose to join you. You’d never complain, of course. It was far easier to walk together every morning than to break routine and his presence always made you feel lighter. But these past few days he’d noticed your steps seemed to drag and your energy faltered. As he talked to you, there were less topics that made your eyes shine and sentences spilling out of you.

“What’s wrong?” Chikara asked on the way home, clearly noticing the shift in your behavior. You’d always been fairly simple minded so he was certain if something was bothering you, he could fix it immediately.

You mumbled over your words, not willing to admit to what had been on your mind. Chikara shrugged. “If you’re gonna act like a ghost I guess I could walk on my own…” he teased, pacing ahead of you.

“Wait!” you called out, immediately realizing you’d been lured. Chikara looked at you with a quietly condescending smile that read _I knew that would work._ You huffed.

“They’ve been teaching us to read…” you explained quietly. “It’s hard.” You weren’t used to failing grades, but you also weren’t used to kanji.

The expression on Chikara’s face wasn’t one you were really familiar with. His bottom lip jutted out like he was deep in thought, but his eyebrows remained relax. His silence gave you a moment to appreciate all his features, which you greatly enjoyed to do.

“I’ll tutor you,” he decided, without giving you time to agree. Soon, he was walking at a brisk pace towards your houses.

“Huh? Wait up!” you hurried towards him. “What’s the rush?” He’d never been one to argue with the pace you set, so you weren’t sure why he was speed walking out of the blue.

“You want to get better fast, right?” was his deadpan answer.

Your mother was more than happen to have Chikara over. Quickly she was making some refreshing lemonade to quench your mind while the two of you worked. Regardless of his own work, Chikara was fully focused on helping you read better.

Despite his kind disposition, when he came over to work with you he was more like a dictator.

After your initial surprise wore off, it started to make sense. He was a model student who got flawlessly good grades, but it wasn’t until now that you realized why. Even at such a young age, he had a bounty of ways to study and focus that had you improving at a lightening fast rate. _Learning comes from repetition;_ he’d drilled into you. _Find words wherever you go._

Your study dates (as your ecstatic mother had taken to calling them) became fairly routine in addition to your walks together. Even though your grades had improved, there were still plenty of uphill battles and Chikara, one year your senior, was the perfect person to help you through them.

Still, you wanted to make your understanding more fluid and frequent. You stayed up at night, restless to improve, and found yourself looking around for solutions.

There wasn’t much you did without Chikara staring down your shoulder, but you wanted to prove you could learn without him, too. Letting your mind wander, you stared out your room window trying to pull a plan out of thin air. You stared up at the night sky and all the stars. Find words in constellation? No, that wouldn’t work. Maybe you could find a book to read? But that was frustrating, and it took so much time. Instead, your eyes found the house next to yours and the lights still on from the room that mimicked the position of yours. Suddenly, a plan emerged.

You scavenged your room for an old sketch pad and a dark black marker. On the page in front of you, you wrote a simple message.

_Hello. Speak to me?_

You found yourself at the window again, opening it this time. Your eyes searched your room for something disposable, yet useful. Grabbing a spare toy from an old happy meal, you chucked the hard-plastic dragon out to hit the window next to you. You tried to stifle your laugh so as not to alert your parents that you were, in fact, still awake.

To your delight, the curtains opened and a familiar, slightly sleepy, Chikara looked out. You proudly held out the sketchpad for him to read, hoping he’d pick up on your strategy.

A proud look shone in his eyes as he walked away from the window. With baited breath you waited for his arrival, hoping he’d come back to indulge you. Never one to disappoint, he soon entered you field of view again with a whiteboard and marker.

_Hello. Trying to study?_

You grinned proudly at him, rushing to write your response.

_Yes. Help me for a bit?_

Although your vocabulary was still fairly limited in terms of what you could read on paper, you found yourself talking deep into the night.

A few mornings later, your father pointed out the growing bags underneath your eyes.

With words constantly surrounding you, reading comprehension was soon the least of your worries. Still, you and Chikara kept up your routine of talking through the window even long after he’d stopped coming over for you “study dates” and you hadn’t had a single day that you arrived at school without him beside your side.

Although you’d quickly learned to ignore the butterflies roaring in your gut whenever Chikara smiled and the way you always grew warmer around him, you never stopped appreciating Chikara’s presence next to you. While you grew tumultuously, he was always your rock and anchor to pull you back down to Earth. Sometimes, you’d look at the boy next to you and wonder how you let him remain a stranger. Now, you could not even begin to imagine life without him.

Until, you were forced to.


	3. Puberty Strikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ennoshita realizes you're a woman and doesn't know what to do with that information.

Junior high was a doozy.

You liked the word doozy; you'd learned it from Chikara. Although it meant “something extraordinary,” it was usually  _ used _ to mean “something troublesome.” It sounded funny and rolled off your tongue easily. But you didn’t want to think about Chikara, not now. He was the  _ reason _ why junior high was a doozy and why you kept  _ saying _ the word doozy and frankly this was getting out of hand.

You groaned, staring at the blank page in front of you.  _ Write about how your junior high experience shaped you. _ It was a strange question for a high school admission sheet but you hadn’t thought to question until now, wondering what words you could string together to sound meaningful.

* * *

Primary school had been easy with Chikara at your side, always helping you along the way. You didn’t question it (didn’t want to question it, really) until you were in your final year. He’d promised you when he went away to junior high you two would still talk, even if you weren’t able to share mornings together. On days when he didn’t come by for dinner, Chikara would still find time to meet you at his window with paper and sharpie in hand.

You didn’t mind it at first. Spending less time with Chikara meant the moments you  _ did _ spend together were extra special. Every smile he sent your way or rock hitting your window (it was a wonder neither of you had broken them yet) was even more important. You swore you didn’t mind it.

Yet inevitably, school got busier for him. There were less late nights and colorful notebooks (reading was easy now so you’d taken to drawing out stories and making him guess). You could see his light on from his room, undoubtedly keeping him up while he studied intensely, but his attention was no longer on you.

You hoped in vain that you’d be able to return to your morning walks together when you got to junior high but there was no such luck. Your parents placed you in a school of their choice, which was conveniently in the opposite direction of Chikara’s. If you were lucky, you’d see him in the morning when you left the house and spare him a wave. He’d always smile charmingly, in a way that made it feel like he’d saved this moment  _ just _ for you, and then in a few seconds, he’d be gone.

As school went on, it only got worse. You were an above-average student, keeping in mind all the rigorous habits Chikara had enforced in you over the years. You tried not to think  _ too _ much about where you learned to study since thinking of the boy simply made your chest ache. Although you’d crawled out from your shell and no longer had issues making friends, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was  _ missing. _ You’d watch as the girls in your grade talked about guys and crushes, pointing out the cutest and most athletic, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take part. Your mind was elsewhere.

Often, you’d scold yourself for letting him affect you. Your parents were overwhelmingly proud of your grades and the friends you’d made, truly there was nothing for you to complain about. But every morning, you’d leave your house feeling disappointed.

It started during your second year of junior high, and Chikara’s last. Finally, you’d figure out his schedule and made an effort to leave at the same time (you weren’t stalking him, just being observant!) so you could relish in the thirty-second greetings you’d share. You’d changed up your uniform, switching to the summer style without a vest because your friends had  _ insisted _ it was the cuter version. There was nothing stopping you from having a great day, you were sure of it.

Nothing except Chikara.

You’d walked out of your house gleaming with confidence, even more so because you saw Chikara had left his house at the same moment. With practiced grace (you’d grown out of your clumsy phase) you made your way down the steps of your porch adorning an inviting smile.

“Morning, Chikara!” you greeted. “How’ve you been?” You quietly hoped your cheerful disposition hid your desperation. Whenever you spoke to him lately, your palms would sweat and you’d feel your heart beating in the back of your throat. Your nerves, you’d assumed, were because you hadn’t spoken to him casually in such a long time, and you were starting to forget how. You just wanted him to smile back at you and tease you like he used to.

Instead, you saw red creeping up his neck. _ Did I make him mad? _ You’d wondered.

“[L/N]!” he exclaimed, voice cracking. “Good day to you!” was all he had to say before he was turning on his heel, shoulders tense and ears crimson.

You sighed defeatedly. After spending far too much time thinking over your interactions with him, wondering what you’d done wrong and how to fix your relationship, you were about ready to give up.

Your interactions with Chikara (pardon, Ennoshita) remained largely unchanged. On the occasion you saw him, you’d do your best to be civil and greet him with a smile, but he’d often run off in a similar fashion. Once, you’d seen him wait to leave his house until he knew you were gone. You’d daresay he was even trying to  _ avoid _ you.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Had you been too clingy? Was he tired of trying to amuse you? You certainly didn’t want to make an enemy of him, but the way his whole face got red whenever you were around you could only assume he was furious with you.

The tensions eased your last year in junior high. Ennoshita was too busy with high school to see you in the mornings (your mother, who still spoke with his parents, had politely informed you that he had volleyball practice in the early morning. You rolled your eyes at the thought. Of course it was volleyball) and often stayed late at school (“Chikara is such a diligent worker!” your mother crooned. You could care less). Fortunately, you had far less embarrassing encounters and on the occasion you were forced to see him (dinners, grocery shopping, spring cleaning), he seemed far calmer.

It was a relief to see him relax around you again. Finally, he regained some of the familiar energy that made you feel safe and sound, knowing he was there. Still, you were nervous around him, worried one of your actions would set him off again. You’d never really understood  _ why _ Ennoshita got so flustered around you, after all.

Your worries were put to rest when his schedule suddenly changed. You were surprised, one spring afternoon, when you found him sitting on the doorstep of his house with a notebook in hand. Usually, he’d have practice right now and you knew from your mother’s constant babbling that Ennoshtia  _ never _ skipped. Quietly, you debated calling out to him. He’d been far more polite lately and you’d even gotten him to talk with you about comics last time his family was over for dinner. But you still weren’t  _ certain _ you two were in good standing, so you tried to test the waters.

“Locked out?” you called to him from in front of his house.

His eyes fluttered up to meet yours and a lazy smile decorated his face (how you missed that smile). “Yeah,” he chuckled. “Didn’t expect to come home so early and I forgot my keys.” You didn’t miss the pink tint of his ears as he explained his embarrassing mistake.

“Well don’t be a stranger, you can wait in my house for your parents to get home,” you offered, gesturing for him to join you. You weren’t certain what possessed you to say that, but the urge to talk with Ennoshita again and reform your friendship kept gnawing at you.

He hesitated for a moment and it was the first time you let yourself wonder if being alone with a boy in your house would make your parents suspicious but you brushed your worries aside. It was Ennoshita, he’d been like a brother to you! You stared at him persistently, and soon he found himself entering your house with his bag in hand.

“Sorry to intrude,” he apologized with a small bow, taking off his shoes.

“It’s no biggie,” you smiled, praying you didn’t seem  _ too _ excited. “Mom would have my head if she found out I just left you out there,” you joked. She  _ had _ always liked him, after all.

The two of you settled side by side at your counter, doing your work in silence. You shifted in your seat awkwardly, wanting to break the silence but scared of coming off as too desperate. Your throat was parched, nervousness sinking in.

“Lemonade?” you asked, getting out the pitcher your mother had made and pouring a glass for yourself.

“Sure, thank you,” Ennoshita smiled, realizing you’d already grabbed a second glass for him before he could respond. No one ever said no to your mother’s lemonade.

“You’ve gotten awfully good at literature,” Ennoshita noted, leaning over to look at your notebook as you grabbed a few pretzels to go along with your drinks. You smirked.

“Well, I had an awfully good teacher,” you responded proudly. You sat next to him again, drinks and snacks in hand, and let your thigh bump against his. Playfully, Ennoshita pushed back at you and you found yourself falling into a familiar banter. It was as if you’d never entered into junior high and instead you were back to walking together after school, entirely comfortable in one another’s presence.

You were almost sad when his parents came home and he bid you goodbye.

The next day you got home a bit earlier, just in time to see him walking into his house. Disappointment sunk into your chest as you realized days like the previous were likely few and far between. Maybe it was your own fault for getting your hopes up, but you didn’t want to let him go so easily.

“You know,” you called out, unaware of where your sudden confidence came from. “It’s awfully lonely to be home by myself.”

Ennoshita turned from his door, smirking at you mischievously. “Well, we can’t have that,” he quipped, all too eager to grab his bag and head towards your house.

The next day, he even waited outside for you, patiently reading on your doorstep. You welcomed him in without hesitation, letting yourself be distracted by the sudden company. For almost a whole week you continued this, falling into the habit of seeing him. Although something told you there must obviously be something  _ wrong _ for him to suddenly show up, you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him  _ why. _ After almost three years of avoiding you, why  _ now _ was he waiting on your doorstep? Why wasn’t he at volleyball practice, even though your mother swore he was dedicated to it?

You were too afraid to ask, worried that you’d make him angry or uncomfortable and you’d no longer be able to sit next to him at your counter, blissfully sipping on lemonade without a care in the world. But after a week of spending time with him, you couldn’t stop your curiosity.

“Why aren’t you at volleyball practice?” you asked him, interrupting a rather intriguing argument on why Shakespeare is  _ definitely _ overrated (“It’s just dick jokes!” Ennoshita insisted, to which you replied “But they’re  _ funny _ dick jokes!”).

He paused to stare at you. The familiar sensation of fear resting in your stomach swallowed you whole as you were quick to apologize for the question. You’d figured volleyball would be the safest topic to ask him about, something your mothers spoke about. But his hesitation proved you wrong.

“It’s okay,” he calmed you. “Just...embarrassing, I guess.” Ennoshita laughed to himself, but you could tell something was amiss. He smiled wearily, and his eyes seemed to be looking worlds away from you.

“I’ve been skipping out on practice,” he explained to you, staring into his lap. “It got really difficult and I guess I needed a break.” He sighed, exasperated. “But that’s no excuse. I’m just scared.”

You were a bit taken aback with his honesty. To you, Ennoshita had always been someone who could do no wrong and make no mistakes. He wasn’t  _ perfect, _ but he was damn near close to it. It wasn’t often that you were the one comforting him, and now that you had the chance you were at a loss for words.

“It’s pretty embarrassing to skip practice,” you agreed. Ennoshita winced before laughing it off (“yeah, I deserve that.”) “But isn’t it lamer to not go back at all?”

“Huh?”

You turned your seat towards Ennoshita so he could get your full attention as you stumbled over your words. “I mean, we all need a break sometimes,” you explained. “Like if all I ever read was Shakespeare-” Ennoshita laughed at you, all you had read that week  _ was _ Shakespeare. “I’d get sick of it sooner or later. So I read some Hemmingway and some Euripides, but I still go back to Shakespeare.” You sighed, shaking your head.

“That analogy doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled, twiddling your thumbs. Seeing you nervous had Ennoshita relaxing in his seat. “You seem like you miss volleyball. What’s stopping you from going back?”

“Pride?” Ennoshita offered.

“What pride?” you snickered. “You’re already skipping.”

You wondered if that was too much teasing for someone you were trying to be cautious of. Ennoshita was awfully sweet, after all, and you didn’t want to offend him.

Your worries were met by hearty, full laughter and crows feet dancing at the corner of Ennoshita’s eyes. It was the first time he’d seemed so unhinged since he started visiting after school. You were glad for it -- after all, you wanted nothing more than to see him happy. But there was something in you screaming that you didn’t belong beside him. That you shouldn’t be allowed to indulge in his laughter or the way his face lit up as he wiped the tears away from his eyes.

“Thanks, [L/N],” he heaved. 

_ We’re barely even friends.  _ You swallowed away your concerns. It didn’t matter, did it? Friends, acquaintances, neighbors. You didn’t need an excuse to sit next to him and smile.

Before you could respond, the familiar sound of car doors locking rang from outside. You and Ennoshita sighed in unison.

“I guess that’s me,” Ennoshita sighed, standing and grabbing his bags. “Thanks again, [L/N].” There was a newfound conviction in his voice that had you sighing fondly. He sounded so grown up.

“Anytime,” you muttered, watching him walk away to his house.

The next day, Ennoshita didn’t show up to your doorstep, but for some reason, you didn’t mind.

* * *

It was a nice consolation after spending all your time in junior high worried over some boy to finally get to a point of normalcy with him, but it didn’t change the fact that your memories of junior high were too clouded with worry to really leave you feeling content.

_ Write about how your junior high experience has shaped you. _

In the back of your mind, you wanted to talk about how your relationship with Ennoshita changed and grew. There were so many lessons you could include. How sometimes people just need time to be comfortable with you. All the ways he taught you to study. Or maybe, you could write about picking yourself back up again even when you fall down. Writing about him was undoubtedly the most honest way you could talk about your junior high experience.

You laughed dryly.  _ Write about a boy? That’s too embarrassing. _

In the end, You wrote about your “favorite teacher.” It was probably more convincing, anyway.

It was a relief to finish all the paperwork. You knew highschool was important and all, but it was really such a pain with all the prep work you had to do. You were all too happy to be able to turn in admission sheets.

Taking one final look over your papers, you heard you friend ask “Why Karasuno?” as she peeked at your forms. “You could probably get into Shiratorizawa with your grades.”

“Well…” You had plenty of reasons you could give. It was fairly close to your house, and not a  _ bad _ school at all. Their girl’s track team was really good, and you had thought about joining. But you know the only  _ real _ reason you wanted to go was the image of a boy at your doorstep. “I guess I like the uniform the most,” you smiled.

Your friends laughed at you, telling you how weird you were for your choice but smiling along nonetheless as you handed in your forms, without even looking back.


End file.
